Not so broken-hearted
by neongoat
Summary: (Set in phase 3 AU.) A certain singer has had enough of being held captive inside of a massive landfill. He manages to escape with the Stylo as well as his life, but does he escape with his mind? Will he begin seeing the world differently whether he likes it or not? (One-sided 2D/Stylo. See A/N for better explanation.) Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: This is my second Gorillaz fanfic but the first I've actually put much effort into. This is not intended to be a one-shot. I also am posting it on tumblr. As for the pairing, you're not reading this wrong. I decided I'd explore a pairing no one generally considers. It'll take some time to develop. Constructive criticism is very welcome.)  
>(DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING IS IN A PHASE 3 AU SETTING AND THE STORY CONTAINS IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH; MAY LATER CONTAIN CHARACTER DEATH AND STRONG SUGGESTIVE MATERIAL. I DO NOT OWN GORILLAZ OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS.)<p>

Not so broken-hearted (2D/STYLO) Chapter 1

It was a smouldering hot day. Dust lined airways and sand clawed at eyes. For miles, perfect blue skies were marred only by wispy excuses for clouds here and there. A familiar lanky young man sprawled across the ground in a tiny spot of shade provided by his vigilant companion, still and silent except for the slow tinking sound of metal gaining temperature in some places and losing it in others.

2D's mind raced as he lay on the ground, one hand clutching the keys to the Stylo, the other loosely grasping a mask painted to look like an eerie, smiling face. He wondered about how he made it there and where he would go next. His gaze wandered to the dark beast looming over him, almost watchfully.

As he took the time to slow down, he began processing the events that had taken place.

-  
>Since he had been forced to come to this stinking rubbish heap of an island, he'd resented his former idol. Murdoc Niccals. Man turned beast. The Satanist had mistreated him. Every day, it seemed, he would beat the poor boy from head to toe, even if he hadn't done anything wrong.<p>

On this particular morning, 2D had been left alone with the Cyborg to oversee his behaviour whilst Murdoc took his merry ole leave to purchase more alcohol and cigarettes with the money the young singer had earned him.

2D sat awake, anxious, watching the window of his underwater room and waiting for his pursuer, the Whale, to come for him. Every day and night he sat, stood, laid, paced with anticipation of his death. As he was certain this surely would be the day, he was violently started from his thoughts as Cyborg Noodle thrust the door open loudly, marching in and matter-of-factly stating that, while "master" had gone, her orders were to escort the youngster around the island in order to maintain- for the sake of keeping him alive, he supposed- at least marginal exercise.

He cast a glance at the half-smashed face of the clock on his wall. 2 in the morning. He haphazardly stumbled over to put on some simple shoes and grab a ratty looking hooded jacket before walking to stand in front of the cyborg and wait for her command.

As expected, the robot eyed him before turning a full 180 and slowly marching out the door and up the stairwell. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he curled his fingers around the one object on the island which he trusted anymore: his switchblade knife. Maybe this would be his one chance.

-  
>Outside on the shores of the large landfill, the combined stench of bleach, paint, ocean water, and what he could only presume were dead things hit 2D all at once, sending his head reeling. He took a painkiller from his pocket and swallowed it dry without a second thought.<p>

Deep black eyes scanned the beach, taking quiet note of the absence of the aeroplane. A dark form that seemed to suck in the light around it instead floated by a small dock. The upper half of a shark-shaped submarine, the most visible part being the upper point of a white star poking out of the water on each of its sides. The Stylo was home. And that meant opportunity.

Shuffling along behind the cyborg, 2D quietly observed the land and watched the robotic impostor for any sort of movements he should note. They circled around to where they began, the Stylo a short ways ahead. Suddenly, the boy heard the whirring of propeller blades and realised that his captor was returning.

Beginning to panic, Stu realised that this would likely be his only chance for escape and he acted without thought, pulling his knife and stabbing the cyborg in the neck where her spine should have been. He didn't know if it would work, but it was worth a shot.

Beginning to run, 2D looked back and did a double take as the cyborg wildly began firing its machine-operated rifle into the air at odd angles. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard several rounds connect with metal and a familiar string of curses fell from the air.

Turning to watch as a small, faded yellow aeroplane made a smokey descent toward the beach, 2D realised there was now nothing he could do to change his actions. The adrenaline in him suppressed any pang of remorse he might have had and he turned to run for the Stylo, opening the hatch and climbing in, rushing to the controls.

2D fumbled around before managing to turn and speed away from the island, the submarine shaking a little suddenly as a minor shockwave resulted. He did not want to look back, especially after watching several pieces of debris drift by. Sighing, he began to recall the emergency procedures Murdoc had taught him, setting the Stylo on an automatically piloted course for North America. He knew that if, by some miracle, Murdoc had survived, he'd assume 2D would leave for his home country.

Then he began to reason. Some miracle. Would Murdoc live? After all, it was a miracle he'd escaped. A miracle he was alive. That could happen, right? Sighing, he walked to the cot inside of the Stylo's cabin and laid down, trying to sleep.

This would be a rough night.

(I'm working on chapter 2 right now– just beginning it, rather– and so hopefully it will be up within the week. Hope you enjoyed. Please review; I'd like to know if I'm properly writing the characters.)


	2. Chapter 2

Not so broken-hearted (2D/STYLO) Chapter 2  
>(AN: This took awhile, sorry. I wanted it to be longer, but I figured I should begin/end chapters in reasonable places. Remember, I love constructive criticism. Thanks )

2D woke from a restless sleep. It was dark when he woke to the jostling of the Stylo as it finished its nigh-seamless transformation from submarine to land-based automobile. He found himself in the backseat looking out at the dusky skyline of a coastal city as the shadowy auto rolled fluently onto the grainy beach, water rolling from its paneling and chassis.

As the beast came to a stop and quietly idled down, 2D clumsily climbed into the driver's seat and settled, taking a deep breath. His mind was still racing even though his conscious thoughts were dead silent. He mulled over the landscape visually, taking the wheel of the Stylo and driving mindlessly through the sleepy city. He was lucky to have stumbled upon a place that was just winding down for the night.

Everything seemed to just pass by. The world had become distant to him. People watched as he rolled past and heads turned; people who recognized the vehicle and its driver did massive double-takes and even tripped and fell on the sidewalk. 2D didn't care. He didn't notice. Somehow, everything was still so quiet. He kept driving eastward, remaining barely conscious, if only to obey traffic laws.

-  
>He didn't know when he pulled over, or when he even arrived in the desert. He didn't recall how, but he had wound up in front of the Stylo, curled up in the sand. He couldn't see the road very well from his position. The sun was just about to rise, and it was still cold, but 2D was still too numb to care. He shivered for a moment and curled up on his side. He didn't feel like getting up at all.<p>

2D withdrew into his mind, thinking. He wanted to escape. He hated the sick bastard that had beaten him every day and forced him to sing, essentially turning the younger man into a prisoner. How old was he now? He wasn't even sure. He hadn't kept track of the days in a long time.

His wandering gaze snapped to the Stylo. He stared hard. The grille was still a little mussed, with a bullet hole. The driver's side headlight was still broken. The body of the camaro was still littered with scrapes and ballistics wounds and dents. The thought of such neglect made 2D cringe.

As much as the auto had done for him, and for Murdoc especially– carrying them away from danger in their times of distress, being a mode of transportation after the Geep had gone, sometimes even being a shelter for them when no other home was available.. the thought that Murdoc was so careless not to maintenance the vehicle made 2D angry for some reason. They had both been neglected and abused. Try as he might, thinking about it, angry or not, wasn't going to fix a thing.

As the sun rose and chill turned to warmth turned to heat, springtime breezes giving rise to little dust storms, he was brought slowly back to reality, eyes travelling the landscape. He could now see sparse grass littering the dusty ground, and a lizard scuttled by. The bright sun began to bother him. 2D hadn't realised he'd become so unaccustomed to such light.

Still feeling frustrated and distant, 2D made minimal effort to scoot over into the shadow of the Stylo, appreciative of its presence. Sprawling out on the ground, he laid his head in the sand and thought about all that had happened. Murdoc surely had died, and he considered the fact now without much remorse. The man didn't deserve much second thought these days.

As 2D finally began sorting out the past events in his mind, he decided to peel himself from the ground. Stretching, he opened the door of his new companion and took his jacket off, throwing it into the backseat and settling himself into the driver's seat. He fired up the engine and sat there for several minutes, still a bit lost as to what he was doing.

Laying his forehead against the steering wheel, he pondered what his next move should be. The scent of cigarette smoke stained the inside of the automobile, and the sharp smell made his stomach growl. 2D realised he hadn't eaten in almost a day and a half. Sitting up and pulling his door shut, he pulled toward where he could assume the road was, and sure enough, he found it.

Looking left and right, he saw a town in the distance to his right and decided to head that way, almost reluctantly driving onto the road and decidedly taking his time instead of speeding. The Stylo's gas hand was on almost empty, so he decided to play it safe. He was surprised he had anything left.  
>-<p>

After looking around the place for a bit, he deduced that he was near the border of California and Arizona. Pulling into a service station– and just in time, as the old camaro ran out of fuel at the pump, he rummaged around. Digging in his pockets, he pulled out about four dollars in change he'd managed to find. In the glovebox, he lucked out. Looked like the old bassist had left one of his billfolds in there.

Pulling it out, 2D opened it and dumped the contents in the passenger seat. Out fell about twenty pounds and thirty US dollars. Looks like Muds still came to the US for booze. 'Looks like I was lucky this time,' he mused to himself, gathering all the money back into the billfold and sticking it into his back pocket except for twenty-four dollars.

Inside, the singer quickly retrieved a bag of potato chips and a cheap bottle of water. Waiting in line, the man in front of him gave him an off glance and the cashier paid no attention, more engrossed in getting money; likely to sustain her obnoxious gum chewing habits, 2D noted. As he got to the counter, he sat his things down including the money. "Twenty dollars on..." he turned and squinted hard at the worn sign at the pump by the Stylo. "...three."

The young blonde woman behind the counter, smacking away at her gum as she punched buttons here and there and violently ripped a receipt from her register commented absently in a southern drawl, obviously not from the area, "Sure is a nice car ya got there. Beat up. Is it one of them re-store projects?" She looked at him curiously.

Taking his change and food, 2D eyed her cautiously for a moment, unsure how to respond. 'Oh no, I got kidnapped in it and it was shot at about eleven times,' he mused in his head, instead choosing a better response. "Yeah. Jus- er, just got 'im." He muttered quietly. After all, the Stylo did need some repairs. Quite a few. But that would come in time.

Seemingly satisfied with this answer, the woman nodded. "Good luck!" She called as 2D hurriedly pushed his way out of the door, taking long strides over to his car. Opening the driver's side door, he tossed his chips and water into the passenger seat, shutting the door and rounding the back of the vehicle with the pump handle, fumbling with the keyring before finding the key to the Stylo's gas cap (which he was surprised still existed, much less locked).

Carefully watching the dusty price counter on the pump, he stopped when it read '20.00' and hung the spout back up. He made sure to completely close and lock the gas cap before getting in the Stylo and firing it back up. The hand on the meter read about 1/3 of the way full. This would get him a little bit further.

Pulling out of the parking lot, 2D headed out to take a look around town. A few signs informed him that he was in Ehrenberg, Arizona. It was a relatively small place, if the scarcity of people was any indication. 2D pondered for awhile. How was he going to get anywhere? He wasn't going to be able to get money from thin air. He noticed a few places with 'now hiring' signs, but who was going to accept some stranger with no plausible ID, no passport, an unbelieveable background, and much less who looked like he did?

With a great sigh, he turned onto one of the few and far roads through a residential area and noticed a yard sale with a large lot of things. Parking in front of it, he cautiously got out with his keys and billfold in his pocket and brought his potato chips, munching as he went.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed something that made him do a double take. Sitting in front of him, between a large chifforobe and a bin of clothing, was a small but good-looking Casio keyboard. At a glance, 2D could tell it was a 44-Key SA-76. A miniature, but 2D swore by Casio.

Looking underneath the stand it sat on, he noted that it was plugged into a drop cord. Switching the instrument on, he easily began rolling out snippets of melodies from a few familiar songs. As he finished playing the melody of "Stylo", the owner of the items for sale came out of the open garage door of the house.  
>"I see you're interested. You play real good, son."<p>

2D nodded at the old man. He was stocky but not portly. Well dressed in simple khaki shorts and a polo shirt, his dark grey hair showed his age more than his face did, which was currently holding a polite smile. "Yessir. How much for the keyboard?" He quietly questioned. As he figured it, although maybe a long shot, 2D could perform for money to get himself on his feet.

The man eyed the ragged looking boy up and down. "Tell you what, I haven't seen anyone all week for this. How about I give her to ya. My son who used to play left for the military last year and I don't need the thing." This caused 2D to wobble a little. He knew that was practically a steal. However, he didn't want to miss the opportunity.

Shaking the man's hand profusely, he thanked him about five times, to which the man simply replied that it was no problem; just enjoy the thing. Taking up the keyboard and cord with it, he got into the Stylo, waving at the man. He checked the keyboard for batteries and sure enough, it had fresh looking ones in it. "Probably hasn't been used in ages.." he muttered to himself before setting it in the backseat and taking off. It got to be sunset before 2D settled in an abandoned parking lot and locked the doors of his Camaro, relaxing and quickly falling asleep.  
>-<p>

(A/N: I'm trying to work on these back to back, so bear with me if it takes awhile to get the next one up. I get writer's block too! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.)


	3. Chapter 3

Not so broken-hearted (2D/STYLO) Chapter 3

(A/N: Once again, I'm trying hard. I have lots of stuff flying around in my head and I'm backed up with ...well, mostly procrastination, but you get the point.)

2D once again was startled to wakeness, this time by being tapped on the shoulder by a police officer. The man, looking in his forties, stood over him, dressed in a dusty brown uniform and numerous brassy medals and badges, his patrol car humming quietly behind him.

When 2D opened his dark eyes, the older man was visibly startled. As was the younger man, who defensively held up his hands in front of his face, his jump so great that his smiley faced mask fell from the top of his head to hang around his neck. "D-don't kill me, I swear, it was all an accident!" Stu blurted.

The officer raised his eyebrows, confused. "Son, why are you here? Did you drink last night?" 2D slowly lowered his arms, though still visibly shaken. "N-no sir, I have no place to go.." he stopped himself. What would happen to him if he told the truth? Could it be worse than lying? He made a shot in the dark.

"I'm homeless...I was kidnapped years ago, no idea in bloody hell where I was.." he bitterly mumbled. He even surprised himself with how solemnly the statement presented itself. The policeman crouched down so they were on eye level, looking at him seriously. "Son, how old are you?" This prompted him to bite his lip and search in his thoughts. "What year is it...? I-I...I can't remember.."

At this, the strange man had a noticeable change of heart in his eyes; where moments ago laid suspicion, now rested a vengeful thirst for resolution. This was a dangerous mystery, and Stuart could tell from the look in his eyes that the officer cared enough to help him. He suddenly felt like he was staring into the eyes of a concerned family member instead of an accusatory stranger.

"Son, you got gas?" The officer gestured to the Stylo, and 2D nodded. "Fire 'er up and follow me. I'll drive right slow, we're not in a hurry." The officer gave a gentle smile, which 2D heavy-heartedly tried to reciprocate, on the verge of tears. He realised it was going to be an extremely hard journey to any kind of normal life. If that would ever happen for him. But this was his chance, and he had to take it.

Igniting the Stylo's engine, he paused for a moment, hands on the wheel, sighing. "We're on the way, lov-" he stopped. What was he about to say? No. He was alone in a car. An object without feeling whose sole purpose was to transport human beings, one of which he was. However he felt a strong connection. Especially in the case of being treated in subhuman manners.

As he fought back the flashbacks of his brutal treatment, he let tears freely roll. Because it wouldn't matter; no one was here to beat him for "not being strong," and crying. He silently followed the officer in his automobile, feeling disconnected once again. Even though a cheerful sun shone down on him, warming him, he felt cold. Trauma wasn't an easy hurdle. And today, he let himself fall. Maybe tomorrow he would, too. Maybe the next day he'd get up. But today, he was on the floor.

2D sat in a basic wooden chair, whose comfortableness he didn't much care about. Patiently sitting across a small table from him was the officer who picked him up, a Mr. Tyndall, who was a considerate man who had served for over nineteen years as a policeman and had seen just about everything else. The room they were in was simple. Beige carpet with a pink, oval-shaped rug on the opposite side of the room near a window on the wall to 2D's left. A TV, a disused old radio, and the mostly-empty bookshelf it sat on were the only things other than the table and chair in the room.

The smell of cheap air freshener drifted here and there. Mr. Tyndall shuffled some papers around, probably concerning protocol, and neatly laid them down by a notepad and pen. "We'll take this slowly. I know you must feel really bad." 2D nodded, politely folding his hands on the table. He was willing to cooperate if it meant survival.

"Okay, this is really easy. What's your name, and do you know your birthday?" 2D eagerly nodded. "S-stuart Pot, and.. me birthday's may the twenty-third, nineteen-seventy.. eight." The other man scribbled some notes. "Well, Stuart. .congratulations. You turn 36 next month!" At this, his heart sank. It had been so long ago that he got dragged into this mess. Funnily enough, he got hit by a car at the start and now a car was carrying him out of this mess.

2D's mind wandered back to earlier, and he pushed the thoughts back. It was all coincidence. Really, some sore luck if you asked him. "Okay, Stuart. Where did you live before you were kidnapped?" 'D shook. "I-I'm f-from England. Y-you won't deport me will you? He might get me back," he blubbered, perceivably shrinking in his chair. The thought of Murdoc's survival and his own recapture terrified him beyond end.

"No, not at all, not if we can figure this out. I'll see to it. Have you had any sort of citizenship here in the US before, any kind of connection that would land you here?" The story was beginning to boil in 2D's head– rather, he felt none of it plausible. Suddenly, he took a drastic move. "I-I have to tell you the whole story..I know it's gonna sound like a lie.." from there, he began with his childhood. From his accident and run-in with defective meds to the current point in time.

Sometimes Mr. Tyndall would ask him to slow down, or explain things, or repeat something. 2D more than happily obliged. He omitted a lot of details, but none that were important to his safety. When he was through, the police officer left him to go and discuss the issue at hand with some of his coworkers and make some calls.

Alone in the little room, 2D decided to get up and look around. Upon examination, the bookshelf yielded little of interest, including works like a transcription of Shakespeare's "Othello" and a small, worn book entitled "Why do I feel bad when I say No?", obviously the psychology enthusiast's midday snack. Walking over to the window, he leaned his hands against the cool glass, looking out at his Camaro parked out in a patch of white gravel next to Mr. Tyndall's black and white patrol car, presumably some 90's-era Ford.

The auto's strong profile stood out against the mixture of flat land and rolling hills, looking almost vengeful. The vigilant sentinel was posted silent, a unique feeling coming from it. Was 2D going crazy? Maybe he was just becoming over attached. He thoughtfully furrowed his brow and sighed, staring out the window. He wanted to be out there. He didn't know why. He just wanted to curl up in the backseat of the beast and sleep forever. He needed to feel safe.

Just as he began easing out of his thoughts, Mr. Tyndall softly inquired, "Feeling lost?" 2D glanced to him and back to the Stylo dolefully before walking back to the little wooden chair and sitting down. "I'm just gone. Gone from earth, it feels like. Nothing's real." Mr. Tyndall nodded at this, understanding wholly. "I've felt that way before. I have good news, if it helps."

Stuart hopefully looked up at the older man. He felt like he was a child looking for approval and assistance from his parents again. Without a word from the young man, the policeman went on to describe how they would be able to obtain his documents and direct him on his way to a new life. Mr. Tyndall told 2D that, if he could bear sleeping in the Stylo next to the police station for a few nights, he'd be put up in a temporary place to live. Everything began to fall into place.

That night, 2D got the best sleep he'd had in years. He wasn't still, but he wasn't restless. Every night for the next few days he'd wake up before dawn, anxious, watching the horizon for his demonic captor's vindictive arrival. The thought of being captured haunted him over and over, mind still returning to the time when he was an undersea captive.

One morning, 2D woke before dawn, as usual. Nervous eyes scanned everything around him, until they settled on the Keyboard he'd gotten some four or five days ago. He pondered how he could forget such a thing he used to passionately practice with for hours on end and perform with ardor not many players could muster.

Taking the little Casio from the backseat, 2D switched it on. He began to roll out the notes to "Stylo", singing along, beginning softly and then becoming louder:

Overload, overload, overload  
>Comin' up to the overload<p>

Oh Stylo,  
>Go forth blossom in your soul<br>When you know your heart is light,  
>Electric is the love<p>

When the mako flies  
>Up from the bottom in your eyes,<br>Then I know the twilight skies  
>Are not so broken-hearted<p>

...

He trailed off for a minute, yawning awkwardly. He resumed singing, a bit louder.

Sing yourself  
>Out of depression, rise above<br>If I know your heart..  
>Electric is the love...<p>

He trailed again, thinking about the feeling of safety and nigh-companionship that that automobile gave him, and how happy he felt to be around it. Switching the keyboard off, he hunched his shoulders and looked down at the keyboard with reticence on mind at best. He was crazy. 'I'm not one of th-those..' he silently mused.

His eyes looked up at the Stylo's steering wheel, then wandered over the gauges and the shifter, the stereo and the seats. Every detail stood out vividly familiar to him, even in such dim light. Looking around, he saw nobody moving about, nobody bothering with the start of the day, and decided to hastily retire again, placing the Casio in the backseat and leaning his seat back all the way and curling up on his side, quickly nodding off again. He wanted nothing of the sort on his mind for the following day.

Faint beeping and the bittersweet, sterile and unmistakable smell of a hospital wafted into sore nostrils. Eyelids became a stinging blanket of sandpaper to hetero-chromic eyes and strange languages scrambled themselves around the spinning room.

"¡Él vive, vengan aquí! Necesitamos ayuda, ¡ahora!" The words sounded familiar. He'd heard them before.

Had he finally gone to hell?

The world disappeared again as his vision went black. The last thing he heard was the accelerated beeping from something he wished would just stop. There was no point to it anyways.

(A/N: this one's a shortie, I know. I'm trying to write while I have inspiration. Believe me, it flows at the most unfortunate times. It's currently midnight as this is written. Go me.)

(A/N update: I tried to upload this morning, but my tablet refused to paste my text. Sorry!)


	4. Chapter 4

Not so broken-hearted (2D/STYLO) Chapter 4

2D woke to another warm, sunny day. The sun hadn't risen long ago from what he could tell. Unlocking the door of the Stylo and getting out, he stretched up and down, head to toe, joints cracking. Straightening up and wobbling a little, he made sure he had his keys before making his way into the Police Station. Today was the day.

Inside the small building, he knocked on a door with a little wooden plaque that read "TYNDALL" in gold letters. "Come in!" The voice of the officer inside called, at which he stepped in, closing the door behind him. The room was small and gray. In a large leather-covered chair on top of a green rug, Mr. Tyndall sat behind a large desk and in front of a packed-to-the-brim bookshelf. "Have a seat and relax, Stuart."

The man noticed that 2D was shaking a little. "Anxious?" He gave a little nod and smiled like a goof, a bit abashed. "W-what's me plan, officer?" He asked, still yawning from having woken up a short time ago.

Mr. Tyndall opened a manila folder that sat on his desk which had accumulated a mass of papers. He took out the first few pages and glanced at them. "Well, we've got you a place. We talked to the landlord, explained your predicament. Soon enough we'll recover your banking information and set up some services for you here in America." He paused, sipping from a glass of iced tea.

"Normally, we'd put you through a lot more, but seeing your situation, and after contacting your parents and other authorities, we validated your information and we'll be able to help."

2D brightened up. "M-me mum's alive? Does she even want to talk to me...?" he frowned. The officer nodded. "Everyone who knows you has been concerned." He froze at the word 'everyone'. Surely only his parents and some of the closer collaborators of Gorillaz had any sort of worries for him. He'd no idea if any of his band mates cared— or were even alive.

"We put out news to only a select few. Word got around and a young woman contacted us. Said she went by 'Noodle'. Do you know her?" 2D stared blankly, mind racing. Firstly, she was alive. That astonished him. Secondly, she still cared. That was also amazing. But after the trauma he'd gone through, he was almost afraid to contact her. How would they even be able to get along, especially after what he'd done to Murdoc? Surely she'd hate him, he thought.

"Yes sir, I do.." he trailed, looking down at the desk. Mr. Tyndall looked down at him. "What's the matter, son?" Shaking his head, 2D sighed. "Oh. It's just that she might be angry at me. I'm not sure what to do."

The older man nodded. "Anyhow, the house. I have directions for you, here," he laid a paper in front of 2D. "And all you need to do is arrive at the house around three. It's about one o'clock right now. The landlord wants to meet with you briefly, then you'll be set." He smiled, laying a key on top of the paper.

2D smiled. "Thank you so much. Will there be uhm..." he scratched his head. He was still a bit lost. "More..." he trailed a bit, furrowing his eyebrows. Mr. Tyndall picked up for him, "Investigation? Most higher authorities of America have been notified as well as Britain, and a global lookout has been posted to keep an eye out for Mr. Niccals. You will be safe, I can assure you."

2D relaxed a little, sighing. "Thank you so much. Is there anything else?" The officer shook his head, standing. He reached out his hand. "It's been a pleasure to help you, Mr. Pot." He smiled. At this, Stuart stood up. Leaning over the desk, he threw his arms over the man's shoulders and hugged him, fighting back tears. "You're the first one to help me...th-thank you, sir.." he let go, standing back, a bit embarrassed at his own actions.

The other man paused for a minute, then smiled. "You're more than welcome, Stuart. Any time." 2D wiped away a tear that managed to escape and smiled back at him. "I guess this is farewell."

Mr. Tyndall nodded melancholically and shook 2D's hand. "If you ever need help, don't hesitate to get in touch with me." He gave the younger man a formal card containing his contact information, which 2D eagerly put into the billfold he'd acquired.

"Thanks again." Stu picked up the paper with the directions and the key before he walked out the door, mind racing. What would happen? Would Noodle confront him? He had no doubt that the young woman was able to find him. After all, she was the ideal of many things; especially a thoroughly trained military personnel.

As 2D approached the Stylo, he drank in the sight of the black beast. It seemed to do the very opposite of shine as it absorbed the light, drawing him in from the bland, dusty surroundings. Before he knew it, he was standing next to the Stylo, running his hand across the dirty white vinyl of the roof, once again cringing over the disarray the vehicle was in, emphasized by the cloud of dust that flew up.

"I'll make sure you're well taken care of when we're home.." he mumbled absently before getting in and firing the engine up. He glanced at the piece of paper he'd been carrying. Easy enough to follow; they were numbered and lead directly from his location at the police office. Giving the building one last look, he fastened himself in with his seatbelt and left.

In the distance, a black car pulled out of a police station. It was riddled with bullet holes and scrapes. Focusing more closely, it was obvious that the driver had a mess of unkempt, grown out blue hair. The manner the figure drove with was cautious and collected, almost in a dainty way that said 'don't get so close to me'.

Setting down her binoculars, the young woman shifted her rickety little pickup into drive. It wasn't much, but it got her around much quicker than her feet could. If her lead was right, this was indeed the man she was looking for. At a safe distance, she followed the shadowy camaro, mind processing clue after clue and soaking in every possible detail she could observe and recall at once.

Murdoc opened his eyes again. He wasn't so sore, but everything was brighter than he wanted. Surely he'd gone to hell; everything pointed in that direction: loud noises, people running around yelling, a light bright enough to blind Lucifer, and a headache worse than any hangover he'd had.

"Bloody hell..." he closed his eyes, but tried to sit up in the bed he laid on. It was difficult. Difficult as could be. But eventually, he dragged his aching bones upward. "Someone had better get their arse over here and tell me where I am!" He shouted, noting he was hoarse. He honestly didn't care. He was going to beat the shit out of that little runt when he caught up with his scrawny arse.

A short, curvy Hispanic nurse rushed over to his bedside. "Señor.." she looked at the laminated bracelet around his arm. "Niccals. ¿Como puedo te ayudar?" She asked timidly. Murdoc frustratedly dug his forehead into his palm. "...yo.." he paused. He hadn't needed Spanish since he'd left Mexico. It became obvious he'd be wherever he drifted for awhile. "Quiero saber ...donde.. estoy..." he hoped he'd said the right thing.

Noticing he was having trouble speaking Spanish, the lady spoke slowly, hoping he'd understand. "Estamos en México. Tú... llegaste aquí hace dos días." Murdoc's eyes widened. He'd drifted ashore two days ago...he wondered if he'd drifted alone.

"¿Donde está mi avión?" He wanted to know where his aeroplane had gone. If he had it, he could fix it. However, from the quizzical look he got, he could tell it was nowhere to be found. He waved his hand and dismissed the nurse, who nodded and scurried off. Rolling onto his side, he sighed. This would be a long journey, and he planned to kill along the way.

-  
>(AN: sorry this one took longer than the others. I have no excuse. Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to review.)


	5. Chapter 5

Not so broken-hearted (2D/STYLO) Chapter 5  
>-<p>

Pulling into a wide driveway, 2D noted that there was no one else around the house he'd been given directions to. It was nice; dark red brick with an enclosed carpark, with some yellow green grass in the yard underneath a lonely, dry-looking mesquite tree.

Listening to the breeze rustling the tree branches and pitiful shrubbery, 2D leaned his seat back and killed the engine, allowing himself to relax and doze. His attention was caught as an 80's maxima pulled in next to him. It was dingy brown and not too spectacular looking.

A tall, lanky man in half-rimmed glasses stepped out of it. He was somewhere around his fifties, and wore a striped sweater. A pleasant smile was scrawled on his face. "You must be Stuart." At this 2D nodded and smiled, stepping out of his own car.

"You're my landlord?" he double-checked even though he knew the answer. "Indeed. I just wanted to meet with you to discuss a few things." He went on to explain to 2D that he would be staying without rent until around July, unless he could pay earlier if he wanted to. The man gave 2D the carpark door opener and left soon after with a handshake and a pleasant nod.

Opening the door, he fired up the Stylo long enough to pull the purring auto into the enclosure and shut the door behind them. He sighed, nerves wracked. It wasn't often he made a massive change to his life like this. He was just glad he'd gotten away from Murdoc.

2D sluggishly leaned his forehead on the worn steering wheel and gazed at the gasometer, which read at about one-fifth of a tank. He sighed; it'd be okay. He didn't plan on going anywhere. His eyes wandered across the dashboard. Dust coated just about everything in sight, making the black vinyl appear dull and faded.

Running a hand over the dash, leaving a darkened trail in the grey layer, 2D found himself lost in the shapes and lines of the weathered vehicle. He still burned with an anxious frustration at the state the Stylo was in. "We're torn, bloody ruined..." he muttered. He lifted his head a bit and looked down at the steering wheel. Without much thought to what he was doing, he gave the wheel a delicate peck and ran his hand up the steering column lightly.

Suddenly, he stopped, catching himself. He looked down at his hand, fingers still poised gently against the cylindrical structure, and quickly disembarked from the vehicle with his keys, locking the door and rushing into his house. Spying a pitiful couch against a far wall, the lanky man made a beeline for it, practically crumbling when he reached the stuffed piece of furniture.

Laying on the stale-smelling shape, 2D grumbled aloud. "I'm not one of them!" he proclaimed to nobody at all. Harrumphing loudly, he turned over and reached for a lamp on a tiny table by the end of the couch. Pulling the cord, he illuminated the room, confirming working electricity. 2D sighed, turning on his back and staring at the ceiling, eyes welling up a little. He felt like he was losing his mind.

He gnawed his lip at the side of his mouth, looking around the room. The layout was fairly open; the kitchen was connected to the living room and featured a stove and oven, a small refrigerator, a microwave, and a small sink along with some presumably empty cupboards. Directly past the other end of the couch was a small hallway leading to the bedroom; on the left was a bathroom.

Getting up, 2D slowly ventured to the bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, he sprawled out on the bed, looking around. A small bathroom was attached to the bedroom; there was also an open closet. It was all pristine and empty of any traces of having been previously owned or rented. Yawning, a little surprised at how soft the mattress was, he dozed quickly and nodded off.

2D awoke to the sound of knocking at the door. It was quiet, but audible and not very urgent. Jumping from the bed and stumbling to the front door, he opened it. He saw no one outside, but a box sat on his doormat; it wasn't marked, or taped, but simply folded shut. He picked it up and, closing the door behind him, carried it to the couch. He stretched before he sat down, which brought a sudden rush of blood to his head and he remembered exactly what he didn't want to; his head started to throb painfully.

Reaching into his pocket, Stu realised he only had one painkiller left. Lucky as any, he guessed. Swallowing it dry, he returned his attention to the box and quickly opened it. Inside were a few bottles of water, some cans of soup with pull tabs, and two bowls, each with a spoon resting inside. 2D saw the meager donation and smiled. "I wonder who sent this..." he took the box to the kitchen and sat it down, taking out a bowl and a can of soup.

Opening the can and pouring the contents into the bowl, he popped it in the microwave and sighed, looking out the window. It was close to being nighttime now, and he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

At a safe distance, Noodle sat in a worn down looking little pickup which was a rusty brown colour; she figured it was the least flashy thing she could find to follow 2D in. She'd been searching for a long time. The thought of his abuse by Murdoc every day for so long made her angry. She clenched the steering wheel as her eyes stayed fixed on the box on the doorstep down the road some way.

Not too much later, the tall man opened his door, looking puzzled, and noticed the box, taking it in. The sight of him doing normal things made Noodle happy; he was still like a brother to her no matter how distant they had been from each other.

Over a few days, Murdoc had begun to regain his strength, motivating himself the whole way by thinking of how he would rend young Stuart limb from limb the minute he laid eyes upon him. How he would bruise his skin, break his bones, maybe make him go blind once and for all. A dog, as Murdoc would put it, did not run from its master without punishment. And 2D had done much more.

After about five days in the hospital, Murdoc was checked out. He immediately began hitchhiking places to re-obtain his old sources of money, and dig from the bottom of his bank. He was going to make a spectacular entrance, and if he had to take both 2D and himself out of this world by some twisted work of fate, he was going to finish his story with a bang.

(A/N: Sorry this took so long. I'm starting Chapter 6 as I speak. It'll be better, I promise.)


	6. CHAPTER 6 ANNOUNCEMENT (READ PLEASE)

((THIS IS AN IMPORTANT INTER-CHAPTER ANNOUNCEMENT FOR NOT SO BROKEN-HEARTED.))

If you are easily offended by material of a paraphiliac (particularly Mechanophilia in this case),  
>or of a sexual nature in general, I would advise that you DO NOT READ CHAPTER 6 OUTRIGHT;<br>I will upload a "clean" version at the same time as the original CHAPTER 6 so that our more "squickable" readers  
>can still enjoy the fanfiction experience. This will be done with every chapter that contains mature-rated content.<br>As well, with the uploading of CHAPTER 6 (likely during this week), the Rating of the fanfiction will be changed from T to M.  
>I hope you have enjoyed thus far, and hope not to offend anyone.<p>

~Stay tuned for the Next Chapter of "Not so broken-hearted!"~

— neongoat


	7. Chapter 6 (CLEAN)

Not so broken-hearted (2D/STYLO) Chapter 6

It had been about a week and a half since 2D had moved into his new house. Every other day, it seemed like a box was left on his doorstep, or a piece of furniture, or some clothing. He felt a little strange accepting the anonymous donations, but any help was help, and he appreciated it. He'd even gotten some money, a few hundred dollars, that he held onto for dear life. Eventually, somehow, he'd put it to good use. His birthday would come up in a week or two, and maybe he'd do something with it then.

Meanwhile, he'd taken a few of those dollars and brought the Stylo to a self-attended carwash on a warmer day, carefully washing the body of the auto, cleaning around the windscreens by hand as not to get water into the interior. He carefully removed the rest of the broken glass from the rear window, vowing to get it replaced along with the driver's window.

2D also attentively detailed the inside of the car as well, making sure the light beige upholstery was as clean as possible. Seeing the camaro's condition improve, even a little, brought a smile to his face. He felt impulsed to remain intimately close as he cleaned, subconsciously making little caresses and affectionate gestures without much thought. He was becoming much more comfortable with the black beast, and knew the traces of its every contour quite soon.

On a lazy afternoon, about two days before his birthday, 2D was washing his few dishes after lunch when he smelled something curiously sweet wafting through the air. There was a knock at the glass door, as he'd left the wooden front door open, and he turned to walk to the door and answer it, only to stop dead in his tracks at what he saw.

Standing at his doorstep, in plain jeans, a T-shirt, and ratty sneakers, holding some mysterious pie, was a sight that 2D crumbled before. "Toochi!" She shouted happily, grinning. Noodle was taller than he remembered. But then, he remembered years ago. Opening the door, he immediately took the pie and set it aside on a small table, grabbing her with his long arms and squeezing her tight, lifting the girl off of the ground.

"Noodle!" He shouted happily. He couldn't help but smile. Setting her down, he backed away a few steps. He then remembered what happened on Plastic Beach, heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. He looked down, suddenly distressed. "What's wrong, toochi-san?" Noodle looked at him curiously. He sighed, and with a heavy heart, blurted "I hurt Murdoc...I'm sorry..." feeling ashamed, he ran to the kitchen, leaning on the counter near the refrigerator. His head began throbbing, competing with his heart to make him explode.

Noodle rushed over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "He deserves every bit of it." she murmured. At this, 2D froze, eyes wide. "But...he was our band leader...s-shouldn't I be sorry...? He... he hurt me, but.." he trailed, flustered. Noodle pulled him by the shoulders so that he was facing her and looked him straight in the eyes. She shook her head. "He hurt you. He held you captive, he destroyed you. I will not forgive him for that. We are tougnt as we grow to forgive, but some I simply can't. Nor should you."

Hugging him tightly, she retrieved the pie from the table by the door, bringing it over and sitting it on the counter. "Come on. Show me your home. I want to know you're safe." This got a melancholy smile from the young man, and he nodded. "Okay. This way..." he showed her through the house, explaining everything as he went. She listened, interested. He finished up the tour at the carpark door.

"And this.." he walked into the carpark, leaving the door open for Noodle, "...is the Stylo." he unthinkingly ran a hand down its side as he circled the shadowy machine, stopping at the driver's side and leaning gently on the roof. Noodle noted the intimate behaviour, then took in the full sight of the car as she made a complete circuit around it. "It's nice."

2D smiled. "Yes...y'know, I escaped in this.." he gave the vehicle a peck as she moved, thinking it would be unnoticeable. She noted it silently. "So, have you met any of your neighbours?" she absently questioned. He shook his head, then paused for thought. "Are you going to stay awhile?" he looked at her hopefully; they had a lot of catching up.

"Actually, yes," she nodded. "I don't have a home either and was hoping to stay for some time." At this, he smiled excitedly and gave a little hop. "That's great! I missed you..." he stopped as his stomach gave an awkwardly loud growl. The two laughed and headed back into the kitchen.

They eventually sat at the couch, where there was now a small coffee table, and ate a few slices of the pie Noodle had brought. They talked and laughed and shared missed memories until nightfall. Noodle retired on the couch, curled up in a soft blanket, and 2D peacefully rested in his bed, feeling much less anxious now that he wasn't alone. His sleeping mind wandered over apple pie and camaros and friendship, and danced around ideas of happiness and future.

Come morning, Noodle took him to a nearby shopping outlet for a day of fun and relaxation. She noticed his anxiety as he left the house without the Stylo for the first time. He'd been in the carpark for several minutes before they left in the truck. They wandered throughout the stores and didn't buy much, but had a pleasant time nonetheless. 2D would occasionally space out or make a sour expression when he was reminded of something Murdoc had done or said to him. Noodle could still see the trauma in his eyes.

Later, the two traveled to a small, cheap Mexican restaraunt and sat to have a bite. Noodle was sure she'd never seen 2D's eyes get so big as an amazingly large plate full of burritos, taquitos, rice and other goodies arrived at the table– she'd told the waiter to bring the largest reasonable order of 2D's meal that they could. She wanted him to indulge, to get away from the ever-present negative feeling she saw in him when he remembered Murdoc. And she figured the best way was to celebrate.

The rest of the night went much in the same fashion; the two laughed and talked and had fun. 2D offered to drive the two home, as Noodle had already done so much already, and she gladly allowed him. She noticed the care he took not to slam her truck door, the ease with which he went about making adjustments to his seat and the steering wheel; however, he seemed quite distant and almost businesslike in how he handled the vehicle compared to his Stylo.

For awhile, the drive was silent. He decided to take a back road on the advice of Noodle, slowing the pace of the trip. There was no better pace than a leisurely one, as proclaimed by Noodle. Later, breaking the silence, Noodle spoke up. The way he behaved had been something in her mind that she just could not crack, despite being a "walking smarts-bank" in some earlier words from Stuart.

"Toochi-san?" she anxiously grabbed his attention. "Yeah, Noods?" he glanced in her direction. She paused, thinking of how to put her words together. Suddenly, she felt unsure asking, almost unwelcome asking. She sighed deeply. "What's special to you about the Stylo?" she questioned quietly, hoping not to offend him. There was a thick silence for a moment. 2D's heard pounded; he felt it might bust his ribcage; he was suddenly nauseous. "Well...he's been there with me through it all..I mean, it. It has... and Stylo has suffered the same hardships, being abused and used by Murdoc...he neglected us both..." his breath seemed to escape him, and he swallowed hard. Noodle saw his reluctance to go on, and waited patiently.

"The Stylo seemed like my only friend for so long..." he went dead silent, gnawing his lip. His head began to throb and hurt again. It was not as bad as before he'd escaped, but this was the worst he'd felt since, and Noodle could tell. They pulled into the driveway and 2D killed the engine of the little pickup and got out, locking his door and rushing in before even looking at Noodle again. When she came in, she didn't see him right away. Instinctively, she headed for the carpark.

Her guess was right, she realised, as she opened the door. There was 2D, sitting in the driver's seat of the car, head leaned on the steering wheel and hands loosely embracing the column behind it. She saw a tear roll down his face and quietly paced over. "Toochi-san.." she murmured. He shut his eyes. "I'm losing it, aren't I?" he asked, clenching his jaw. "No...Toochi, you are just different...if you need to heal by showing love in a different way, then fine... but if you want help, I can find you someone to talk o.." she treaded extremely gently.

As soon as he heard her mention things like 'different' and 'help', his mind switched gears. He tried his best not to be angry with her, speaking with an exasperated but controlled tone. "I don't need...h-help... please, just..." his breath caught in his throat. "Just go..." he quietly sobbed. At this, Noodle nodded. "Call if you need me, big brother..." she quickly exited, leaving him to his own devices.

"Toochi!" Noodle knocked on the carpark door. No response. Her worries were beginning to get the best of her. She worried about whether Stuart might have hurt himself when he was upset. Impatient, she took a bobby pin she always kept in her hair (both for aesthetic and emergency purposes) and picked the lock with ease. She swung the door open slowly, stepping down into the carpark. The first thing she noticed was a funny, chlorinated smell to the air and the discarded shirt and shoes in the floor.

Pacing quickly around to the driver's side door of the automobile, she leaned close to the window and saw 2D lying on his side in the reclined seat, back to the door. As expected, he was wearing no shirt or shoes. He shivered a little in his sleep, quietly murmuring about the Stylo. "2D...it's morning.." she gently prodded his shoulder with her fingertips.

2D jumped, startled to wakeness. He turned his head quickly, only to see that Noodle had gotten into the carpark. "O-oh...Noods, lov, what're you doing here...?" He yawned. She gave him a puzzled look. "You scared me, I thought you disappeared." She stated plainly. This got an apologetic look from the man. "I'm sorry. I dozed off before I could come in." He lied. A little white one, but a lie, and Noodle could tell. She decided not to say much of anything about it yet. "Come on, birthday boy, we're going to celebrate."

She motioned for him to follow, and went into the house, leaving the carpark door standing wide open. 2D got out of the Stylo and gathered his shirt and shoes. He gave the auto a reluctant look, almost sad to leave. Before walking into the house, he planted a kiss on the vehicle's hood which was by no means quick.

The smell of sweat and coffee, along with waffles and dirt, flooded Murdoc's nostrils, provoking another massive pain for his sinuses, which would never get better, or so he was convinced. There was the hustle and bustle of a little diner he'd come upon on the way back from one of his major intelligence sources in the States. The tiny restaraunt was worn down, a hole torn in the sign on the outside that used to read "SUNRISER DINER"; it now read "SUNRI-NER" and the loose parts flapped in heavy winds.

The little place wasn't the busiest all the time, but he'd stopped for lunch, which wasn't a good idea anywhere if you asked him, but stomachs tend to have an annoying way of reminding you that you're alive. He had just finished eating whatever he'd barely bothered to order, and was headed out the door. He pondered how long it would take to get him from Texas to Arizona without stopping, except to buy gas and sharpen a knife.

Murdoc unlocked and opened the driver's door of a pretty little el Camino, not much different from the one they'd fled from so long ago. However, the paint was a striking black, which Murdoc had customized to carry a large red sigil of Baphomet across the hood. The little demon had a roar to match its appearance and was intimidating despite its low-to-the-ground stature. The bassist climbed in and fired up his little fiend and pulled out, continuing his westward voyage.


	8. Chapter 6

Not so broken-hearted (2D/STYLO) Chapter 6

It had been about a week and a half since 2D had moved into his new house. Every other day, it seemed like a box was left on his doorstep, or a piece of furniture, or some clothing. He felt a little strange accepting the anonymous donations, but any help was help, and he appreciated it. He'd even gotten some money, a few hundred dollars, that he held onto for dear life. Eventually, somehow, he'd put it to good use. His birthday would come up in a week or two, and maybe he'd do something with it then.

Meanwhile, he'd taken a few of those dollars and brought the Stylo to a self-attended carwash on a warmer day, carefully washing the body of the auto, cleaning around the windscreens by hand as not to get water into the interior. He carefully removed the rest of the broken glass from the rear window, vowing to get it replaced along with the driver's window.

2D also attentively detailed the inside of the car as well, making sure the light beige upholstery was as clean as possible. Seeing the camaro's condition improve, even a little, brought a smile to his face. He felt impulsed to remain intimately close as he cleaned, subconsciously making little caresses and affectionate gestures without much thought. He was becoming much more comfortable with the black beast, and knew the traces of its every contour quite soon.

On a lazy afternoon, about two days before his birthday, 2D was washing his few dishes after lunch when he smelled something curiously sweet wafting through the air. There was a knock at the glass door, as he'd left the wooden front door open, and he turned to walk to the door and answer it, only to stop dead in his tracks at what he saw.

Standing at his doorstep, in plain jeans, a T-shirt, and ratty sneakers, holding some mysterious pie, was a sight that 2D crumbled before. "Toochi!" She shouted happily, grinning. Noodle was taller than he remembered. But then, he remembered years ago. Opening the door, he immediately took the pie and set it aside on a small table, grabbing her with his long arms and squeezing her tight, lifting the girl off of the ground.

"Noodle!" He shouted happily. He couldn't help but smile. Setting her down, he backed away a few steps. He then remembered what happened on Plastic Beach, heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. He looked down, suddenly distressed. "What's wrong, toochi-san?" Noodle looked at him curiously. He sighed, and with a heavy heart, blurted "I hurt Murdoc...I'm sorry..." feeling ashamed, he ran to the kitchen, leaning on the counter near the refrigerator. His head began throbbing, competing with his heart to make him explode.

Noodle rushed over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "He deserves every bit of it." she murmured. At this, 2D froze, eyes wide. "But...he was our band leader...s-shouldn't I be sorry...? He... he hurt me, but.." he trailed, flustered. Noodle pulled him by the shoulders so that he was facing her and looked him straight in the eyes. She shook her head. "He hurt you. He held you captive, he destroyed you. I will not forgive him for that. We are tougnt as we grow to forgive, but some I simply can't. Nor should you."

Hugging him tightly, she retrieved the pie from the table by the door, bringing it over and sitting it on the counter. "Come on. Show me your home. I want to know you're safe." This got a melancholy smile from the young man, and he nodded. "Okay. This way..." he showed her through the house, explaining everything as he went. She listened, interested. He finished up the tour at the carpark door.

"And this.." he walked into the carpark, leaving the door open for Noodle, "...is the Stylo." he unthinkingly ran a hand down its side as he circled the shadowy machine, stopping at the driver's side and leaning gently on the roof. Noodle noted the intimate behaviour, then took in the full sight of the car as she made a complete circuit around it. "It's nice."

2D smiled. "Yes...y'know, I escaped in this.." he gave the vehicle a peck as she moved, thinking it would be unnoticeable. She noted it silently. "So, have you met any of your neighbours?" she absently questioned. He shook his head, then paused for thought. "Are you going to stay awhile?" he looked at her hopefully; they had a lot of catching up.

"Actually, yes," she nodded. "I don't have a home either and was hoping to stay for some time." At this, he smiled excitedly and gave a little hop. "That's great! I missed you..." he stopped as his stomach gave an awkwardly loud growl. The two laughed and headed back into the kitchen.

They eventually sat at the couch, where there was now a small coffee table, and ate a few slices of the pie Noodle had brought. They talked and laughed and shared missed memories until nightfall. Noodle retired on the couch, curled up in a soft blanket, and 2D peacefully rested in his bed, feeling much less anxious now that he wasn't alone. His sleeping mind wandered over apple pie and camaros and friendship, and danced around ideas of happiness and future.

Come morning, Noodle took him to a nearby shopping outlet for a day of fun and relaxation. She noticed his anxiety as he left the house without the Stylo for the first time. He'd been in the carpark for several minutes before they left in the truck. They wandered throughout the stores and didn't buy much, but had a pleasant time nonetheless. 2D would occasionally space out or make a sour expression when he was reminded of something Murdoc had done or said to him. Noodle could still see the trauma in his eyes.

Later, the two traveled to a small, cheap Mexican restaraunt and sat to have a bite. Noodle was sure she'd never seen 2D's eyes get so big as an amazingly large plate full of burritos, taquitos, rice and other goodies arrived at the table– she'd told the waiter to bring the largest reasonable order of 2D's meal that they could. She wanted him to indulge, to get away from the ever-present negative feeling she saw in him when he remembered Murdoc. And she figured the best way was to celebrate.

The rest of the night went much in the same fashion; the two laughed and talked and had fun. 2D offered to drive the two home, as Noodle had already done so much already, and she gladly allowed him. She noticed the care he took not to slam her truck door, the ease with which he went about making adjustments to his seat and the steering wheel; however, he seemed quite distant and almost businesslike in how he handled the vehicle compared to his Stylo.

For awhile, the drive was silent. He decided to take a back road on the advice of Noodle, slowing the pace of the trip. There was no better pace than a leisurely one, as proclaimed by Noodle. Later, breaking the silence, Noodle spoke up. The way he behaved had been something in her mind that she just could not crack, despite being a "walking smarts-bank" in some earlier words from Stuart.

"Toochi-san?" she anxiously grabbed his attention. "Yeah, Noods?" he glanced in her direction. She paused, thinking of how to put her words together. Suddenly, she felt unsure asking, almost unwelcome asking. She sighed deeply. "What's special to you about the Stylo?" she questioned quietly, hoping not to offend him. There was a thick silence for a moment. 2D's heard pounded; he felt it might bust his ribcage; he was suddenly nauseous. "Well...he's been there with me through it all..I mean, it. It has... and Stylo has suffered the same hardships, being abused and used by Murdoc...he neglected us both..." his breath seemed to escape him, and he swallowed hard. Noodle saw his reluctance to go on, and waited patiently.

"The Stylo seemed like my only friend for so long..." he went dead silent, gnawing his lip. His head began to throb and hurt again. It was not as bad as before he'd escaped, but this was the worst he'd felt since, and Noodle could tell. They pulled into the driveway and 2D killed the engine of the little pickup and got out, locking his door and rushing in before even looking at Noodle again. When she came in, she didn't see him right away. Instinctively, she headed for the carpark.

Her guess was right, she realised, as she opened the door. There was 2D, sitting in the driver's seat of the car, head leaned on the steering wheel and hands loosely embracing the column behind it. She saw a tear roll down his face and quietly paced over. "Toochi-san.." she murmured. He shut his eyes. "I'm losing it, aren't I?" he asked, clenching his jaw. "No...Toochi, you are just different...if you need to heal by showing love in a different way, then fine... but if you want help, I can find you someone to talk o.." she treaded extremely gently.

As soon as he heard her mention things like 'different' and 'help', his mind switched gears. He tried his best not to be angry with her, speaking with an exasperated but controlled tone. "I don't need...h-help... please, just..." his breath caught in his throat. "Just go..." he quietly sobbed. At this, Noodle nodded. "Call if you need me, big brother..." she quickly exited, leaving him to his own devices.

2D did his best to stop the flow of tears. He felt like a fool. Sighing heavily, he leaned back in his seat, looking around the interior of the automobile he had begun to cherish so much. He saw such a comforting environment. Stepping out of the auto, he slowly paced to the front end of the vehicle, fingertips lightly tracing the edge of its hood. He slid to his knees and leaned on the hood, letting his arms limply stretch over it. "Friend, we're two of a kind..so hurt and mistaken." He whispered.

Alone and finally beginning to realise the extent of his feelings, 2D awkwardly craned himself back a little and planted a deep kiss right in the center of the car's large emblem that read "STYLO". Another defining feature that he loved so much. The cold metal was a new thing for him, but he enjoyed it. He interlaced his fingers with the grid-like grille and continued affectionately kissing and nuzzling the vehicle. He came to a stop, heart pounding. He didn't understand his own feelings for once, but that didn't matter anymore to him.

He looked at the auto from where he was; stared at it. He straightened up, still on his knees, leaning against the grille. He felt a bit of faint throbbing in his abdomen, and his breathing, he now noticed, had become quickened ever so slightly. He knew exactly what he was beginning to feel, but pushed it back. The idea of feeling affectionate for the camaro was one thing, but sexual arousal was another. 2D started to get antsy. His clothing was suddenly extremely uncomfortable. He glanced at the closed carpark door and decided it was in his best interest to move to lock it, which he quickly did.

He unzipped his jeans, still a little hesitant, but beginning to feel more and more urgent as he stood and took in the breathtaking curves and angles along the Stylo's hard, smooth body. He moved close and leaned against the side of the vehicle, feeling even more squirmish. Unable to take it anymore, he began to grind against the side paneling of the Stylo, a surprised little moan escaping from the back of his throat.

2D became decidedly bold in his pursuit, kicking off his shoes and flinging his pants halfway across the room. He shook, still anxious, the chilly air more noticeable now that he was only in his shirt and underpants, which to him, were unnecessarily thin at this particular moment. He went back to grinding against the Stylo, moving around to its tail end, his face redder than a tomato and his lips slightly parted. Feeling both anxious and aroused by the black beauty rocking beneath him as he leaned over the Stylo's spoiler, he paused for a minute. Looking down at the Stylo's tailpipes, which were a little bit too small, he went ahead and discarded his underpants– scratch that. The tailpipes were way too small.

2D tried to squat down to make his erect member level with the lower rear of the car, but found it was too low. He couldn't safely position himself over the spoiler either, so he took the easier route by quickly rounding to the front of the vehicle and lowering himself onto the top of the hood, the chilly metal causing him to flinch, but after his erection rested against it for a little bit, he got used to it. Slowly, 2D began to thrust parallel to the hood, rubbing against it, careful not to hurt himself, leaning with his palms on the hood.

Panting, he began to speed up, quickly starting to build. He whimpered lowly, sounding like a pitiful animal. He gritted his teeth as he felt that tight knot begin forming in his abdomen. He gasped a little more audibly now. "S-Stylo..." the gasp faded into a low moan. When he realised he'd actually said the car's name, his mind finally processed what exactly he was doing. The man was having a crude, masturbatory form of sex with his car. A few tears rolled down his face as he slowed a little but continued, already too far along to stop now.

'They'll ridicule me,' he thought. 'They'll put me on TV, or arrest me, maybe put me in jail...but I can't help this...' he gave a stressful hiccup. 'I can't. I won't try, either..' he felt a little vengeful, as if he was flipping the middle finger to society for being judgemental. As he sped up his thrusts against the sleek black hood, causing the camaro to rock much harder, even squeaking on its suspension a little, he gave what was a mix between a moan, a growl, and a pitiful whine. Finally, as he could hold himself no more, he came hard, fluids erupting over the hood of the auto, moaning quite audibly for several seconds, calling the name of the Stylo in a shuddering, weak voice.

Panting hard to catch his breath, he sank slowly to sit on the cold concrete floor, exhausted and bewildered af the experience he'd just had. It was not unpleasant, but he didn't know exactly what to make of it. As his heartbeat and breath slowed, and he came back down to earth, he took in the sight of the camaro. The stark contrast of whitish cum slowly rolling down the black hood. If he wasn't already physically and emotionally spent, he'd've been even more turned on than before.

Deciding he had to clean up, 2D got up, then realised there was probably no good explanation if he was caught wiping the hood of the camaro clean, or trying to retrieve supplies in order to do so. Desperate, he stood and thought as hard as possible. After a moment of consideration, he reluctantly moved toward the hood and leaned over it, peeling his shirt off. It wasn't like he hadn't gotten sex fluids on clothing before, but he felt odd. As he wiped the liquids from the hood of the Stylo as well as he possibly could using the T-shirt, he pondered. He knew he should go back to his bedroom, but he'd have to walk past Noodle, who slept on the couch. Even if she was asleep, he didn't feel right being around her in such a condition.

Besides that, 2D sort of wanted to stay with the Stylo. Kind of like cuddling with a lover after a tiring session. Realising he was now completely nude, he picked up his underwear and pants from the floor and put them back on. He figured he could bathe in the morning. Giving an exhausted stretch, he climbed into the driver's seat of the auto, reclining and turning over on his side to get comfortable. Mixed emotions raced through him– shame, guilt and anxiety combated with peace and satisfaction, making sleep a bit difficult. However, when 2D's subconscious finally ran out of anxiety fuel, he finally drifted off.

–

"Toochi!" Noodle knocked on the carpark door. No response. Her worries were beginning to get the best of her. She worried about whether Stuart might have hurt himself when he was upset. Impatient, she took a bobby pin she always kept in her hair (both for aesthetic and emergency purposes) and picked the lock with ease. She swung the door open slowly, stepping down into the carpark. The first thing she noticed was a funny, chlorinated smell to the air and the discarded shirt and shoes in the floor.

Pacing quickly around to the driver's side door of the automobile, she leaned close to the window and saw 2D lying on his side in the reclined seat, back to the door. As expected, he was wearing no shirt or shoes. He shivered a little in his sleep, quietly murmuring about the Stylo. "2D...it's morning.." she gently prodded his shoulder with her fingertips.

2D jumped, startled to wakeness. He turned his head quickly, only to see that Noodle had gotten into the carpark. "O-oh...Noods, lov, what're you doing here...?" He yawned. She gave him a puzzled look. "You scared me, I thought you disappeared." She stated plainly. This got an apologetic look from the man. "I'm sorry. I dozed off before I could come in." He lied. A little white one, but a lie, and Noodle could tell. She decided not to say much of anything about it yet. "Come on, birthday boy, we're going to celebrate."

She motioned for him to follow, and went into the house, leaving the carpark door standing wide open. 2D got out of the Stylo and gathered his shirt and shoes. He gave the auto a reluctant look, almost sad to leave. Before walking into the house, he planted a kiss on the vehicle's hood which was by no means quick.

The smell of sweat and coffee, along with waffles and dirt, flooded Murdoc's nostrils, provoking another massive pain for his sinuses, which would never get better, or so he was convinced. There was the hustle and bustle of a little diner he'd come upon on the way back from one of his major intelligence sources in the States. The tiny restaraunt was worn down, a hole torn in the sign on the outside that used to read "SUNRISER DINER"; it now read "SUNRI-NER" and the loose parts flapped in heavy winds.

The little place wasn't the busiest all the time, but he'd stopped for lunch, which wasn't a good idea anywhere if you asked him, but stomachs tend to have an annoying way of reminding you that you're alive. He had just finished eating whatever he'd barely bothered to order, and was headed out the door. He pondered how long it would take to get him from Texas to Arizona without stopping, except to buy gas and sharpen a knife.

Murdoc unlocked and opened the driver's door of a pretty little el Camino, not much different from the one they'd fled from so long ago. However, the paint was a striking black, which Murdoc had customized to carry a large red sigil of Baphomet across the hood. The little demon had a roar to match its appearance and was intimidating despite its low-to-the-ground stature. The bassist climbed in and fired up his little fiend and pulled out, continuing his westward voyage.


	9. SHORT HIATUS (ANNOUNCEMENT)

NOT SO BROKEN-HEARTED (ANNOUNCEMENT) - I'd like to apologise beforehand, but I am going to be putting this fanfiction down for a few weeks before I resume writing. I've been dealing with too much lately and I can't afford to break down again or do worse and relapse into self harm. This doesn't mean I'm stopping the fanfiction, and I am NOT putting if up for adoption. It is only a temporary hiatus to allow my mind less of a workload. I will get back to the story ASAP. Again, I apologise, but I need some time. Thanks for reading, everyone!

→ neongoat ∞


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